Cry
by travln1
Summary: Written for Cuddy fest lj . Prompt: "Sometimes The Best Thing To Do Is To Just Sit Down and Cry". Oneshot. Thanks to my betas: Chippers87, Lazy Nightowl & Wrytingtyme.


She knew from the pain stemming from her forehead that today would most likely not be her best day. Cuddy placed her bare feet on the floor, stood, stretched and tentatively headed towards the bathroom, with butterflies of anticipation fluttering about her stomach. She held her breath, hoping. Unboxing the stick, she almost feared conducting the test. Seconds ticked by and she picked it up, as a touch of hope settled in her anxiously beating heart. And her heart dropped as she stared at the single blue line, frustrated with allowing herself to remotely wish for a positive sign, frustrated that she couldn't find a man to marry, frustrated that she couldn't will her body to bear a child. The stick was clearly blue, but there was nothing easy about it. She set it down on the counter and focused on her one true baby, her hospital, and began her preparations for the day.

She studied her features in the mirror, frowned at the new crease under her left eye and refused to cry. She steadied herself for yet another day of donor begging, House wrangling, baby envying and the heart breaking reality that she woke up to an empty bed and a failed in vitro attempt, yet again. She stepped into the shower and drowned her headache in hot water and floral soap.

Grabbing a bran muffin from the kitchen, Cuddy stuffed it into her briefcase, downed a couple of Tylenol with a gulp of orange juice and walked to her car. As she placed her briefcase onto the backseat, she turned to close the door and the left heel to her favorite pair of shoes snapped clean off. Standing there in her driveway, she swore loud enough for the neighbors to hear. She took both shoes off and marched herself back into the house for a second pair, grumbling the entire way.

Cuddy pulled into her Dean of Medicine parking space, donned a pleasant, stress-free expression and prepared to smile more than she remotely felt capable of as she entered the hospital. Her hospital. There was some comfort in that; no matter how her day was going, how much House was costing the hospital or whether or not a big donor came through, she could always rely on the fact that she was the dean and she had earned every bit of that title.

She walked through the front lobby and noticed a young couple walking arm in arm, his hand on her butt, her head on his shoulder. A pang of jealousy ripped through her, wishing someone would find a reason to walk like that with her. As Cuddy made the short journey to her office, she noted two other couples. She found the older couple to be adorably sweet, especially the way that he rubbed her hand reassuringly as they walked towards the elevators. She wondered where they were going. Perhaps they were headed towards oncology or geriatrics. Her mood lifted somewhat hoping for their sakes that they were headed to see a new grandbaby for the first time. Grandbaby. She wondered if she'd ever have a child to call her own, much less a grandchild. It was the young, pregnant couple who made Cuddy rush to her office, afraid someone might catch the glossy hint of tears in her eyes.

Not allowing herself to cry, she bravely put on her administrator face and headed towards the cafeteria. She poured herself a large coffee and grabbed a diet seven-up for later, knowing her headache was well on its way to becoming a migraine, which inevitably resulted in nausea.

"Thirsty?" A gravelly voice said from behind her.

"You're here early."

"Cool case, guy's tongue is about twelve times the size it should be."

Cuddy maintained her manufactured smile, though she was unsure why she felt the need to with House. "Have fun," she said, envious of the medicine House practiced on a daily basis.

He pursed his lips, studying her, noting her slightly slumped posture and large coffee. Her false smile did not escape him and glancing at her soda he said, "The test was negative." It never ceased to amaze her at how observant House was. She sighed and nodded, unable to verbally respond. She watched as he looked on with what almost looked like sympathy.

House pulled out his prescription pad, "Here." He briefly met her eyes as he handed her the slip. He nodded once saying, "Gotta run," chuckling at his self-deprecating joke as he held up the cane. And then he was gone.

She looked at the prescription for Imitrex, thankful that his snark chose not to rear its ugly head on a day when her head felt like it would explode. Cuddy waited to pay for her coffee, standing in line alone, just as she always had, every day of her life.

* * *

Cuddy took the long route back to her office, passing by the nursery, in awe of the little lives with all the potential in the world. She watched the proud parents come and go, the proud grandparents talking excitedly, the rows of blue and pink caps keeping the babies warm. She watched enviously as the happy new families looked on in joy. Cuddy smiled as earnestly as she could, congratulating them as she passed, donning her cheerful personality, a cheerfulness which did not permeate her soul.

A new wrinkle, a failed pregnancy test, a broken heel, umpteen dozen couples running through her hospital oblivious to her loneliness, and on the verge of a god damned migraine; she only hoped that the rest of her day would be, if not happy, at least uneventful.

* * *

Cuddy settled in to her role as donation procurer and trudged through several phone calls and one failed potential donor appointment, when at last she was able to sit and take a much-needed breath. Her headache had worked itself into a torrential migraine and it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. The days of hoping the pregnancy test would be positive, the months of trying, the years of holding up the hospital on her shoulders and the decades of wishing for her knight in shining armor to finally show the hell up, all seemed to take residence in her migraine that morning. She swallowed the Imitrex, hoping it would work, unable to imagine how the day could possibly get any worse.

* * *

Cuddy signed off on several patient files in the clinic, doing her best to ignore the bright lights and the various sounds. A cold shiver ran down her spine when she heard Wilson growling, "Move! Out of my way!"

She turned to look at him and saw a slightly crazed man, fear etched on his face with a good dose of panic and urgency thrown in for good measure.

"Why aren't you answering your pager?" He called out from across the lobby.

"What's going on?" She asked, suddenly remembering she'd turned her pager off to avoid the torturous sound.

"House was shot. Twice."

She stood less than a foot from Wilson, temporarily paralyzed by what she hoped was the worst imaginable practical joke, simultaneously realizing that Wilson's entire demeanor debunked that theory.

"Cuddy," Wilson said, gently shaking her shoulders, "House. Shot. ER."

Somewhat dazed, she refocused her eyes, again willing herself to hold back the tears. "Right. Brenda, call security, get the police here. The hospital's on lockdown. No one in or out." Cuddy looked at Wilson once again, "How long ago?"

"Ten, fifteen minutes."

* * *

"They're taking him to the OR right now," Cameron said, "One grazed his neck, the other nicked his bowel and is lodged in a rib. House said something about ketamine."

"Ketamine?" Cuddy asked.

"He passed out before he could explain, but he said to tell you he wanted ketamine."

"If House wants ketamine, he'll have ketamine." Cuddy headed towards the OR, migraine in full force, a new burning sensation stemming from the pit of her stomach, and doing everything in her power to keep her wits about her.

* * *

Cuddy replaced the phone on the receiver and turned to look at House's team and at Wilson. "They can't find the gunman."

"Any idea who he was?" Wilson asked, placing his arm around her shoulders.

Cuddy shrugged out of his grasp under the guise of moving closer to the observation room's window to observe the surgery. She shook her head.

"He came in and asked which one of us was House and before any of us could even think, he shot him, just like that." Chase shook his head.

One of the nurses from below called up to the observation room. Cuddy answered it, nodded a few times and thanked her before hanging up.

"They were able to repair the bowel. He should be okay."

* * *

She stood by his bedside, reviewing his chart as Wilson sat in the chair next to House. Wilson checked his watch and shook his head, "You should go home."

"So should you."

"I'm staying. Go home Cuddy, he's going to need you tomorrow. This hospital's going to need you. Get some sleep and get rid of your headache so you'll be ready for all of this tomorrow."

Cuddy nodded slowly, "Is my headache that obvious?"

Wilson shrugged, "House told me earlier, before he was…"

"I'll go home now if you agree to go home when I come in tomorrow."

"Deal."

* * *

She entered her home through the front door, set her briefcase down and rummaged inside for the medication House had prescribed her. She grimaced in disgust as she pulled out a handful of crumbs, having forgotten the muffin. She laughed a tired, helpless laugh at the absurdity of it and holding her hand high above the briefcase, she allowed the crumbs to fall back into it, not caring about the mess.

Cuddy pulled out the orange canister, leaned back against the front door and ran her thumb across House's name on the label. She felt hopeless, knowing she had failed. She failed to protect her hospital and all those within and it resulted in a violent shooting of one of her best doctors, her diagnostic department head, and more importantly, her friend. Cuddy walked to the bathroom, nauseous with the ever present image of an unconscious and doubly wounded House. She had forgotten the failed pregnancy test which still sat on the counter; it seemed trivial now, mourning the loss of a little soul who never was and yet that too weighed heavily on her heart. She couldn't help but allow herself to wallow in her misery, thinking back on the happy young couple, the elderly couple, the pregnant couple, the babies in the nursery, even Wilson's unending friendship with House. Cuddy was alone.

She undressed, entered the shower and scrubbed her skin free of the olfactory reminders of possibly the worst day of her life; she scrubbed as if prepping for surgery, nearly rubbing her skin raw. The soap fell with a soft thud and unable to hold it in any longer, she slowly slid down the shower wall, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She held nothing back, succumbing to the choking tears that wracked her body and Cuddy sobbed uncontrollably at the base of her shower, allowing the warm water to wash away her tears.

In the morning, she would again don her administrator demeanor, take charge of her hospital, watch over House, force Wilson to rest, handle the donors, the media and the hospital's likely nervous personnel and she would do it all with a smile. And no one would be the wiser.


End file.
